April 20, 2011

Only He Would.

Sitting on the bed next to me, listening as I weep about things that have more to do with horomones than any legitimate crisis. And nodding.
Telling me that "this dinner is fantastic," even though I snapped at him over burnt meat and a forgotten side dish.
Hugging me for so long when I come in the door that my coat's still on when I have to leave the house again.
Making me dress nice and grab a Q-tip and AA battery before we go on an "secret date," which is for the sole purpose of taking pictures to document our first year. 


My favorite tree.

Nothing to see here.

Going with me to the dentist because "it would be fun." 
Finally putting that tarp away. 

I tell him I love him all the time.  Hopefully this is just another way.

April 13, 2011

Where dinners go to die

I love Pyrex.  When opening wedding gifts, I felt truly married when I saw our complete set of Pyrex containers.  I had never owned a complete set of anything besides Christmas socks, let alone something so functional and domestic.

There's just one problem.
Pyrex is the root of all Leftover Evil.
See, I hate leftovers.  My only exceptions include food of the noodle variety (i.e. Thai, spaghetti, etc.) and even then, it can be hit or miss.
*Note: Don't think I haven't blow up at Kenny when he's eaten the last of the spaghetti, yet shrug and reply, "eh" the next time he checked with me first.  Poor thing.

My routine is as follows...
...spend too long finding a recipe for dinner, feeling incapable of making anything not out of a box.
...gather ingredients and place on counter.  Stare and bite nails until courage mounts and chopping begins.
...too many spills and potentially sliced fingers later, things are bubbling and sizzling while the oven is preheating. If I remember.
...on a wing and a prayer, everything is typically done about five minutes apart, which is just enough time for things to cool. And I hate cool food.
...table is set, we sit and consume, and I inevitably don't eat much since I have been intimate with said meal for about three hours. 
Thus we have leftovers.  Enter Pyrex.
"How handy!" we exclaim.  We feel so good about ourselves and our kitchen accoutrements, placing our dinner remnants on the lower shelf of the fridge for "later." 
Days, possibly weeks, pass with no attention to this lower shelf...

...until we need that Pyrex.

April 6, 2011

We're going camping now...

...we're on our way!
Well, let's hope anyway.
Destination: Hood Canal(ish)
Company: only the best- Larson Clan of Tukwila.  Oh, and in case you didn't know, I have the most brilliant niece on the planet. I will devour a weekend with her, understanding her observations on life.
Goal: nature + lots-of-brand-new-wedding-gifts-camping-stuff + SkipBo = heaven.

Now, Seattle, if you don't give us a few hours per day of no rain then I will seriously consider moving.  That and shape up your law enforcement, but that's another post. 
I have about reached my limit.

I want to CAMP. I want to run and jump and play!
And sing Hallelujah to the King.*
Naturally.

*If you don't know Psalty, the Singing Songbook lyrics, shame on you.

March 27, 2011

The battle is over.

This weekend marked a turning point in my life.
It took a decade, but I feel empowered and excited for this new chapter. 

I am no longer a snowboarder.  Well, let's be honest- I never really was.  But that's not the point.  I am now a SKIER!!!  It took 10 years of falling down the mountain, never getting better, and finally getting sick of sore knees and and a bruised bum for me to make the commanding decision. Halfway down Holiday at Summit Central, I fell for the umpteenth time only to sit up and say to Kenny, "I think I'm done." 

And that was it.

We packed up the ol' snowboard and promptly rented skis- and I'm never looking back.
Well, except for in this picture.

Lovin' the pizza.
I am so liberated, so happy. No longer bound to a single board, struggling to face the mountain, straining my knees and fearing the chairlift.  The fact is, folks, that I am not as young as I used to be.  Recovery time takes a bit longer at 27 than it did when I was 17.  And for what?  A not-so-fun experience that I always dreaded, especially when experienced skiers had to wait for me to pick myself up every time I fell and tell me, "We're just having fun today," which is code for "don't feel bad about sucking- we know it must be hard and we'll pretend this is so much fun in the name of 'spending time with friends.'" 
Turns out I am pretty good, too, which is nice.  I guess those years of boarding helped just a little. Now Kenny and I can enjoy this together, getting off the chairlift with ease and smiling over at each other as we sail down our mountain of love. 

This also puts an age-old battle to bed.  For the last six years, the Skiing Vs. Snowboarding Debate has been waging on between Kenny and I.  And he won.  Turns out my husband knew better, for the record.  I have to give him credit.
However, only my clothes shrunk in the last load when the dryer was on too high, so....

March 23, 2011

Mad Body.

Hot tubs are awkward.
And I bet you know why.
But since I can't hear you, let me share my reasons.

First of all, talk about shocking the body.
"What- it's bathing suit season already?!?" your body cries.
"Well, no.  It's only March. But we're gonna get in a hot tub," you try to reason.
"Um, with who?" Body continues.
"Strangers," you murmer.
"Wait a minute.  Let me get this straight," says Body. "You're about to put on a bathing suit three months early after wintering with comfort food, surround yourself with strangers, and sit around chatting in a hot bath."
"Yes..."
"Good luck. We're gonna need it."  Body sighs.

The best part? Bathing suits only.  Due to the lack of sun necessary to use as an excuse to further cover up in the water, hot tubbing is a cold weather activity and thus you are left with nothing to say about just throwin' on the old suit (minus board shorts) and jumping, I mean slowly lowering yourself, in.

Can't wait.

March 14, 2011

GAAAAAH

COMPUTERS ARE HAAAAARRRDD!!!
THEY TAKE HOOOOOUUURRRSSS just to do OONNNNEEE THING!!!!

Just had to get that out.  Yelling it into cyberspace is much more acceptable than yelling it out my front door (the neighbors would worry).

Crosseyed

Most of the time, I resist using the phrase: "I love my husband."  Too many folks using social mediums like Facebook feel the need to announce this quite frequently.  I prefer to update my status with more interesting things, such as what I'm eating or my clever take on the weather.

However, there is an exception for every rule.
I will say this: my husband rocks my socks off.
And here's why.

We are both venturing into the world of websites and it's not pretty. MANY hours, almost to the point of tears, have been spent clicking our way around hosts and templates and URLs (I know- that the heck am I even saying?).  Back-to-back we sit, attempting to figure out who we are on the world wide web.
It's nauseatingly overwhelming.
That said, Kenny knows way more about all of this than I do.  Surprised? I didn't think so.  That's like saying I know more about bras than he does- I mean, duh. I have been toiling over my site, wanting to throw my computer every time I couldn't figure out how to change what I wanted to change and just when I thought I should pack it in and give up on the whole thing, Kenny saved me.  He gave me hope.  He gave me know-how. He gave me HTML code.
His final masterpiece will be unveiled when I eventually allow anyone to visit the site. (Hint: it's at the top)
Until then, I will keep looking at fonts until I'm crosseyed and shout from the rooftops: I LOVE MY HUSBAND!!!!